The Dating Life of an Oblivious Teenage Girl, Part 2

My life is a sitcom. I’m serious. My dating life is possibly the most screwed up love life in history. And that includes the kings who married their sisters. Ick.

For those of you who didn’t read Part 1 (and you really should, as it’s up for the best article for the month of October), here’s the run-down: I was asked out three times by a guy I liked, but all three times I missed the fact that I’d been asked out. This year, I was asked to Homecoming (in a limo) by the guy I like, and I missed it again.

Well, it hasn’t gotten any better.

My new favorite thing, by the way, is to find a bunch of random seventh grade boys and warn them about girls like me. The goal is to teach them how to ask out a girl they like, but it might be doing the opposite. They are cute – they groan, and complain that they don’t want me to talk to them about girls, so I don’t, but then they walk up, hoping I will. Ha.

Where to begin? Well, as I wrote in the comments to Part 1, the second boy actually transferred out of my class. The official story is that his parents made him drop the class, but I have a feeling he’d started agreeing with them after the Homecoming crisis. I was depressed. The boy’s a year younger than I am, so I don’t see him in other classes. So I decided to ask him out.

I absolutely hate asking boys out, but this one was easy. (It was harder to call him about homework!) He was shocked to hear my voice. He was even more shocked when I asked him to the movies; he either dropped something very heavy or fell out of his chair, I’m not sure which. We planned to go out in two weeks; his family was out of town that weekend. All my friends were as psyched as I was. It was creepy, actually – we were turning into that couple that everyone wants to see get together.

Yay! Problem solved, right?

No.

I have never had trouble talking to boys. Ever. (I’ve had trouble reading them, but that’s different.) I talk to lots of boys. Most of them aren’t in my grade – a lot of sophomores, and a couple of seniors and freshman. Pretty much every time I talk to a boy, my friends ask me why I was flirting with him. Even if it was something simple like lending him a dollar. I was flirting? What? Well, then it’s no wonder I have another boy practically dying to go out with me.

When I complained about how complicated boys are, my mom always said, “Wait till you like two at once.” Yeah, right, mom. Like two at once? She’s so crazy. She’s always been crazy.

And right. Damn it.

This boy has the same name as the first boy. He’s a grade above me, whereas the first boy is a grade below. They play the same sport. They both like me. Shoot me, please. I see this new boy most days, whereas it’s hard to track down the first boy.

My friend’s coined the name “Interloper” for the new boy, to tell them apart (Boy #1 is Urkel, because supposedly he looks like Steve Urkel. I don’t see it. All I see is two black boys). Interloper shares a class with me, my twin sister, and our friend, Ashley. Apparently, when you are spending the whole time passing notes, pretending you have telepathy, and finishing each other’s sentences, you are flirting. Amanda (my twin) took me aside after class and started screaming, “WHY ARE YOU LEADING HIM ON? CAN’T YOU SEE HE LIKES YOU?”

Urkel wanted to go out on Saturday so we can see the football game Friday. I love football, but going with Urkel was not going to work. I could just tell. The Interloper was going to be playing in the game. He couldn’t see me with Urkel! He would crush him if he did.

I arrived at the game fashionably late (middle of the first quarter). It was cold. Urkel doesn’t have a cell phone, and he didn’t show up till right before halftime. So I’m staring, freezing, looking for this boy who I figure has probably stood me up. (I don’t have friends who like football. I’m in the nerdy overachiever clique.)

When he finally showed, I went to sit with his friends. I don’t know them, but they know me, because they know I’m the girl he’s into. He must be pretty popular, because every time he tried to talk to me, someone interrupted him. Figures – football team. He left for twenty minutes and I was done. I told someone to tell him I was leaving. I hadn’t wanted to go to the game anyway.

I spent the whole next day trying to reach him, only to find out – from his mom, not even from him – that he was grounded and couldn’t go out with me. That’s why he kept leaving during the game – his mom said he must have been embarrassed. Whatever. I don’t need to deal with fifteen-year-old boys being immature. Did he really think I’d be mad about that? I’m more mad he made me spend the whole day not knowing what I was doing.

The next day I ran into his best friend at lunch. (I don’t really know him, but Urkel has introduced us.) He stopped, glared, turned away, and went to find Urkel – who spared a whole three minutes to talk to me!

Urkel and I are now supposed to hang out over Thanksgiving, but I doubt it’s going to happen. I’m pretty much done with him being immature. If he wants to hang, he needs to track me down, because I’m done hanging by the phone.

I wasn’t at school yesterday; I was in Pittsburgh for a Steelers game. Apparently, the Interloper asked Amanda for my number and called me during class. So there I was getting off the plane, and I turned on my phone and I figured, “Oh, Ashley must have called – I texted her during Physics.” But it was him, just calling to “wish me luck on my game.” I was shocked. So I called him. He was excited to hear me, too. He might have fallen off his chair as well. It was unclear.

That’s my sucky love life now. I guess it is improving slightly. Right now, Interloper is looking a lot better to me. Of course, this will all be outdated in a day or two. It’s High School – nothing ever stays the same.

This is awesome stuff, Maddy. Keep ’em coming! I’m delighting in your pain, and I know that’s mean, but I’m sure it’s only temporary pain. I’ve met you, and you’re awesome. At some point, guys will figure that out, and you’ll connect, and it will work itself out.

Thanks!

Justene

Well, this is going on my gravestone:

“She’s so crazy. She’s always been crazy.

And right. Damn it.”

BTW, when you say all you see is two black boys, it sounds like they all look alike. I know you mean that the only thing they have in common is that they are black. Clearer writing, daughter dear.